St. Peter's Church

4

As Paul entered the front door to his house, the grin that was on his face thirty minutes ago was still going strong.

"Why are ye smiling so much, Paulie?" asked Jim, who seemed to be in a pretty good mood. That became explained by the dozen of empty beer cans sitting on the coffee table.

"Nothin', dad," answered Paul, grabbing a napkin and copying John's number onto it. "What are ye doing, son?" Jim asked, craning his neck to see what Paul was up to.

"I'm going to use the phone," answered Paul. Jim raised his eyebrows. "My apologies, I'll head upstairs," he said jokingly, leaving the room.

Paul used the rotary phone, and as it was, it took a moment to get his number in. It rang for a few moments before a voice picked up.

"Hello?" a lightweight, feminine voice answered. "Is John home?" Paul asked. "He just got home a few minutes ago. I'll call for him," said the woman, before Paul heard a muffled "Johnny! Someone wants to talk to you!"

"Hey," said John in his baritone voice.

"Hey, John. It's Paul."

"Hey, Paul. Did you need something?"

"No, I'm just bored as can be."

Judged by the silence, Paul could tell that John was thinking.

"Where do you live?"

Paul was taken aback by this question. "I live on 20 Forthlin Road, if you know where that is," he answered. "Ah, down in Allerton. I'll be there in a little while," said John.

"Wait, what?"

"I gotta go, Paul, Mimi's asking me to do some chores."

"Who?"

"Bye, mate."

And John hung up.

Paul had no idea what just happened. He stood at the phone a moment motionless before putting the phone back and heading for the stairs.

All he knew was that John said he would 'be there in a little while'. To him, that could mean anything. "Who was it?" Jim asked once Paul got upstairs. "A new friend I made," Paul answered.

"And how did it go?"

"It went alright."

He didn't want to tell Jim any more than he felt comfortable, so didn't say much. In response, Jim shrugged his shoulders and walked back downstairs.

Paul decided to lay down and take a nap. If anyone came over, it would wake him.

He felt his eyelids get heavy, and before long, he had fallen asleep.

But when he woke up, it was dark out, and there was still no sign of anyone. "Dad!!" he called out, opening his door, "Did anyone come by earlier?"

"Not that I know of, son."

Paul frowned a bit. He didn't want John to think he had been ignoring him. He decided to lock his door back and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

He must've zoned out, because there was a tap-tap-tap on the glass of his window. When he turned to his left, there was John, crawling on the roof of the window below.

It made his heart stop a moment. He opened the window. "What the hell, John?? Who even told you where my room was?" he asked in a whisper-shout. "I called Ivan after I hung up," answered John. "Shh, me dad's asleep and so is Mike," Paul scolded. "Oh, sorry," John whispered, inviting himself into Paul's house and crawling in.

"Your room is-- cozy," John lied. "I know, it's not that clean--" "No, it's very clean," said John.

"Then why--"

"Holy shit, nice guitar, mate."

John had managed to get into Paul's closet and find his guitar, and he started touching it and admiring it. "Me dad's a musician; he encouraged it," said Paul.

"Yer dad's a bloody genius," said John with a chuckle. Paul smiled weakly. "I might be able to show you what I can do tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me," commented John, "See you at school, then."

And with that, John hopped out the window, and Paul watched as he sprinted away.